Pages

26 April 2016

I'm so sorry that I've neglected my blog as much as I have. My current grad level course has really put me to the test these past several weeks. Yes, the Professional Writing Class for Public Relations and Strategic Communications wasn't just a challenge to my writing passion. It was a time consuming era in my learning all forms of professional writing in existence out here in the digital world. Anyone needing a media kit out there? Come on, all you writers who absolutely despise promoting your talent! I'm completely prepared to assist where needed. Spread the word.

Is it back to my regularly scheduled program? Not just yet. I will be checking back with the Blogosphere from time to time to read and comment, but that's about all I will be able to contribute until I can get a break. :(

03 April 2016

A little background before you read the next story, which is in the context of a chat just to mix things up a bit. This is a flash fiction romance story between Diane Carlisle (that's me) and the new man in her life, a guy named Charles. His last name is omitted to protect his identity, of course.

Charles is today's protagonist. Watch him on his journey as he sets out to help the poor lady spread Weed and Feed in her yard. You see, Diane purchased the concentrated mix because she has a degree in Computer Science and therefore, can read instructions.

02 April 2016

The warmth of the sun produced enough moisture on the tanned surface of the man's skin, just enough so the landing would go unnoticed. Here we go...gently. Ease on down and hunker between the soft hairs just below the knee.

Feather-light feet press gently into the sweat, barely touching the skin. The absence of traction does not interfere with penetration. The sweet nectar feeds the hungry insect and her vessel swells with nourishment. Ignorance is bliss.

A sudden rupture. A bursting warmth. Darkness.

The End

brevity
[brev-i-tee]noun
1. shortness of time or duration; briefness
2. the quality of expressing much in few words

01 April 2016

Yes, I did say I was participating in the A-Z Challenge (and I am), but did you really think I could come up with a short story every day? I can't even finish the one I've been working on for the past five years! Okay, but still, I'm sharing the word Apathy from an old post back in 2011. I will begin my stream of consciousness writing for all the days I can't seem to find a story in me. I promise!

1. Absence or suppression of passion, emotion, or excitement.
2. Lack of interest in or concern for things that others find moving or exciting.

Squeegee

The floating scaffold moved side to side, sloshing about the soapy water in his bucket. He whipped the squeegee downward in a quick motion, the excess fluid sprayed off into the wind like a mist. The muffled voices inside just another part of the scenery, a hundred feet in the air in front of his 15th window of the day.

The screaming on the other side seemed like a movie playing in the background. He pressed the spongy strip to the glass and made square patterns on the surface, the liquid dripping toward the bottom pane and carrying a summer’s worth of dust and pigeon shit in its stream. A green and white speck hitched a ride inside a soapy bubble the size of a nickel.

The woman threw a vase across the room, "I hate you!"

The man ducked and the fixture shattered against a closed door.

He'd witnessed this scene before in his own living room, back when Margie used to watch the Soap Operas. He would leave her alone, engrossed in her favorite episodes. Something else could occupy his time. Make a sandwich. Swat at flies. Anything.

He flipped the squeegee over to its rubber side and pulled downward, pressing hard against the glass. The water flowed quickly, gravity forcing the drips to race each other to the bottom.

In two large strides, the man closed the gap between himself and the woman, placing his hands around her neck. He looked angry.

The wind shifted the scaffold back and forth and the clean surface he just uncovered gleamed in contrast to the rest of the window. He again placed the squeegee back to the top and pulled down. A pigeon stopped in for a visit and perched itself on a side panel.

“Hello there little fellow.”

The pigeon cooed back at him.

The woman tried kicking and punching, but she looked as if she was losing in her struggle for air. Her punches and kicks slowed down and then she was still.

"People will be people, eh?" he said to the pigeon and then raised the squeegee to remove the rest of the soapy liquid before moving on to his next window.

Total Pageviews

My Books

I checked out the audio book from the county library and I was surprised by the amount of entertainment this experience provided. The vulgarity promised in the book blurb presented itself nicely, and there was enough buggery and shagging...

I enjoyed this audio book during the last few weeks of driving to and from the office while alone in my car. There is something about this story which makes me feel good inside, and you can't quite put your finger on the source.
It's l...

The author unravels a chilling story, revealing little by little the redemption of a white man. Not only does the story evolve, but so does the protagonist's outlook in life as well as the white man's physical attributes while his true i...